Hard Corps

by Paul Mannering

  “Shit.” Bucket ran for the door, cracking his head on the low ceiling as he went. Dazed, he flicked the blanket aside and looked around.

  Noshi climbed the scaffolding, heading for the highest limits of the interior wall. Her thin limbs carried her with ease over the flimsy framework. Bucket scowled. Going after her meant getting up amongst the spiders. He hated spiders, the six-legged hexapods as big as a man’s head. The farmers liked them because they came down on threads to hunt the rats among the crops at night.

  “Fuck it.” Bucket started climbing down. He would have enough to explain to Calzon without chasing the girl up the damned wall.

  Breathing hurt but not enough to stop Erik running. If Hek had died in the fall, then Erik was dead too. The Mess was more than home; it was the entire world. With nowhere else to go, it would be a simple matter of time.

  Calzon would have no choice. Killing without authorization would get Erik choked—tossed out to breathe his last moments in the raw atmosphere of the world.

  Avoiding the crowded walkways, Erik stayed out of sight as he crept through the cluttered housing units. His first priority was to find a weapon. The best place to do that was the entrance, where the bosses went to meet with the slugs and do their trading.

  Erik climbed again. Running with light steps across the uneven roofs of a dozen small houses, he avoided the watchful eyes of Calzon’s men below.

  An archway marked the airlock where supplies came in and those selected for service went out. Erik lay down and wriggled forward the last few feet to the edge. A ragged group of men and women were gathering at the entrance. One of Calzon’s men was walking up and down, inspecting the group as if they were livestock.

  The call must have come through, a call for able-bodied men and women to give themselves to service. It was the dream of all young humans to join the mercenary corps and enjoy the glorious life that service promised.

  Without further thought, Erik slipped off the roof and dropped to the mud. Keeping his eyes downcast he merged with the group and tried to look older than he was.

  “How many?”

  Shit—Calzon. Erik froze. Running now would get him beaten and raped. He would end up in the cage until the slugs gave instructions for him to be sent out to choke.

  “Twelve,” Calzon’s lieutenant replied.

  “Only twelve?”

  “Yeah, volunteers are thin on the ground this month.”

  Legend had it that Calzon had been a merc, a veteran of service to the Diorite military. Now he ruled over the squats in The Mess. “All right, you mud eaters. You’re going to get scanned. If you’re sick, or weak, you won’t get chose. If you’re strong and got fight in ya, then glory be yours.”

  The volunteers shifted, nervous and excited to be given the chance for something more than living in the stink under the dome.

  “Send ’em through.” Calzon dismissed the group with a wave before turning on his heel and walking away through the mud.

  “Line up, one at a time,” the lieutenant ordered. Erik peeked up from under his fringe. The wall inside the arch shimmered and went like clean water.

  The first of the volunteers was pushed forward. He hesitated a moment, and then, with a second shove, he took a deep breath and disappeared through the wall of glistening gel.

  “Next.”

  One by one they entered the pulsing wall. It reminded Erik of snot, but somehow clean.

  When the woman in front of Erik passed through, the lieutenant’s eye fell on Erik. “Hey!” he shouted. “Erik, you little shit, Calzon’s going to fuck the life out of you!”

  Erik ducked under the lieutenant’s swing and dived for the wall. For one long second a hand tore at his shirt as he felt the sickeningly warm press of the gel engulfing him. A moment later, he fell to the floor on the other side.

  Chapter 2

  I

  Erik’s breath misted and he felt his skin prickling against the cold. A steady breeze washed over him as he lay on a steel grate floor. It took him a moment to register what seemed so strange: the air he was breathing didn’t smell of anything.

  Shivering, he stood and folded his arms across his chest. The thin material of his shirt did nothing to protect him from the unaccustomed cold.

  The strange wall behind him had solidified to the dull grey it had always been. Ahead, metal struck metal with a ringing clang behind a circular metal door. Erik tensed, ready to run and hide or fight if he had to. The door spun open, its iris opening like a flower.

  Erik crept closer, steam gushed from hidden vents, bathing him in warm, moist air. Taking another step, he crossed the threshold and the door wound smoothly closed at his back.

  The temperature went up and the air filled with a thick steam. Hidden in the mist, angled jets of hot water blasted Erik from all directions, knocking him off his feet and forcing him to hold his breath or risk drowning.

  “REMOVE ALL ITEMS OF CLOTHING,” an unseen voice boomed. Erik complied, dropping his shoes, pants and shirt on the floor. He heard the water jets activating again and braced himself for the deluge. After a second brutal shower, he sniffed the strange chemical smell that lingered on his skin and hair.

  The mist evacuated in a howl of suction fans, revealing a second iris door on the other side of the room. Erik advanced, having no other choice. Full bodysuits with separate boots and gloves hung on racks in the next room. The last of the others who had passed through the wall before Erik were here, dressing and stamping their feet in the strange softness of the fitted boots.

  Still waiting to be dragged away and thrown into the open atmosphere, Erik snatched a suit from the rack and pulled it on. The material contracted, pressing comfortably against his skin as it adjusted to his size. The boots and gloves gripped him in the same way.

  The other volunteers were in good spirits, grinning and admiring their new wardrobe. If this was a sign of the comforts they could expect in their new lives. They were looking forward to it.

  “ONE AT A TIME. STEP FORWARD. STAND IN THE LIGHT,” the unseen voice boomed.

  A circle of blue light came from the ceiling. The human nearest the light looked around at the others, who watched him closely. With a shrug, he stepped into the vertical beam and waited.

  After a moment, the light clicked off. “EXIT THE CHAMBER.”

  Another round door twirled open, the man walked through, and it closed.

  “ONE AT A TIME. STEP FORWARD. STAND IN THE LIGHT.”

  The cycle repeated itself; each of the freshly washed and dressed volunteers stood in the light and then walked through the door when commanded.

  Within two minutes, Erik was one of three humans left in the chamber. A woman took her turn in the light and then stepped through the portal.

  The last man had been wheezing since Erik came in from the wash chamber. His chest rose and fell with the effort of breathing, and Erik wondered if he had inhaled water.

  The man took his place in the light and after a moment the floor opened under his feet and he dropped. Erik sprang forward, reaching out a hand to grab the man’s flailing arm.

  “He-help me!” the man gasped, his arms holding him on the rim of the circular hole.

  “Grab my hand!” Erik seized him by the wrist and strained to lift. The air filled with a high-pitched buzzing sound and then a smell of burning flesh.

  The man in the hole screamed and Erik fell backward as the opening sealed shut. The man vanished, only his arm remaining, still in Erik’s grip.

  With a startled cry, Erik tossed the limb away. The shoulder was seared to ashes and much of the skin had burned black.

  The smell of charred meat faded with the roar of extraction fans. Erik ran for the door behind him. It remained sealed and he pounded on it, screaming for help.

  “STEP FORWARD. STAND IN THE LIGHT.” The voice boomed. Erik slid down to the floor, his back pressed against the wall.

  “CHAMBER ATMOSPHERE EVACUATING.” The voice announced. Erik felt his ears pop and a m
oment later it became hard to breathe. Crawling he headed for the glowing circle. Spots danced in front of his eyes and a band of steel tightened around his chest. The room swirled with grey mist and Erik collapsed.

  II

  Pizak reviewed the data streaming in from the physiology scans. The human volunteers barely met the minimum criteria. They would need conditioning beyond the usual training and augmentation. That of course, came at a cost. Pizak knew without referring to the financial files that the program’s budget was fully accounted for. Cuts would have to be made somewhere and K’zyn would expect targets to be met regardless.

  An alarm sounded. Pizak cancelled it immediately, tuning his sensors to assure himself that no one else in the office area had detected the alert. A human had failed the initial bio-scans and had been terminated. One subject remained and the drop of atmospheric pressure in the assessment chamber had rendered it unconscious.

  “Complete bio-metric scan of remaining subject,” Pizak ordered. The computer acknowledged the command and the data filled up his screen.

  Pizak’s tendrils lifted as his interest grew. There was promise in these readings—a genuine candidate for the program.

  “Recover human candidate,” Pizak ordered. His future and the human’s were suddenly aligned. The philosophers would describe this as an omen of note.

  III

  The smells and sounds Erik awoke to were unfamiliar. A grunting, a sound of arousal though not quite sexual. A scent of cooked meat, spiced and rich. The yeasty odor of bread, baked fresh, still hot from the oven. He struggled to his feet, the instinctive urge to get his share of the food driving him before he was fully aware.

  “Hey, Scrap. You hungry?” One of the volunteers, his voice thick with meat juice. It glistened on his lips and dripped off his chin.

  Erik slid into a plastic seat, formed to hold the human shape. He snatched a thick slab of the brown flesh from a platter and stuffed it into his mouth before anyone could tell him no.

  As he chewed, Erik looked around the table. Everyone was eating, gorging themselves with a plenty that none of them had ever known. He took a fistful of bread, soft and white as Noshi’s hair.

  After a few mouthfuls, Erik’s stomach rebelled. He winced in sudden pain, fearful that it was a trap and he had been poisoned. The man next to him tilted his chin up and let out a rolling belch.

  Others laughed, answering with their own vibrant calls. Erik straightened his back and let the rising pressure in his taut belly escape. Someone clapped him on the back and laughed. Erik blinked. It was the first time in memory anyone had struck him without malice.

  They feasted until the platters were wiped clean and the absorbent material of the table was pooled with congealing grease. The men and women groaned in satisfaction, pulling away from the table and wiping their faces with the sleeves of the bodysuits they wore.

  “If this is what we can look forward to working for the slugs, then all-fucking-right!” someone called to the room. They responded with cheers.

  Erik kept watching the reflective walls, wondering who was watching them, how they were being assessed, and what was expected of them in return for the gifts given.

  Aside from the table, the room held simple beds, stacked two high. One above and one below, softer than anything that Erik had ever slept on. It was to the bunks that the volunteers now turned, stretching out and sighing with contentment. They didn’t fight over who got what bed, instead giving way to each other and settling without incident.

  Erik returned to the bunk where he had awoken. Lying down in the creases of his own outline, he tried to make sense of the experience.

  Around him, the room settled into sleep. Erik kept himself awake as long as possible, waiting to see what would happen when everyone was unconscious. Soon even his eyes slipped shut and he slept again.

  IV

  Noshi sat up, the intensity of her dream startling her to wakefulness. As was her custom, she took two deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. She settled in a cross-legged position, focusing on the dream and reviewing it before it slipped from her consciousness.

  Smells, textures, and sounds formed a three-dimensional world around her. She knew everyone in The Mess by their smell, the sound of the footsteps, and even the way they breathed. In her dream, she detected familiar figures, including Erik, and it gave her hope that he might still be alive.

  The voice that spoke to Noshi did not come from the dream. It stood outside it, observing like she did. “Among the Diorites, Ka’tharis, omen in standard language of humans, have an influence in all aspects of personal and professional life.”

  “Ka’tharis,” Noshi whispered.

  “The source of all omens is not in the metaphysical or spiritual constructs. For Diorites have no concept of such things. They observe and calculate, recognizing that randomness, chaos, and coincidence are unopposable forces in the great machine of the Universe.”

  “I don’t understand,” Noshi whispered. Focusing her mind, she pushed deeper into the fading memory of the dream, seeking the light caress of the whispers that brushed against her like floating strands of web.

  Pizak floated in the warm sub-consciousness of metra. The natural process of physical renewal through meditation was a daily ritual that focused the mind and sharpened the mental acuity. Like every other minute of his daily shift, the time for meditation was allocated, monitored, and assessed.

  During intimate moments with Tosai, when they connected for pleasure and not for the purpose of producing offspring, they would both enter this state. Laying themselves bare, their innermost psyche revealed. Entrusting another with your most vulnerable thoughts and being gifted the same in return was the definition of love.

  The sensation of an unknown presence pressing in Pizak’s mind startled him.

  I don’t understand, the stranger’s voice whispered.

  I am alone, Pizak expressed indignantly. Among a species who communicated across a range of energy spectrums, solitude was an unassailable right.

  Ka’tharis, the alien presence insisted. Can omens be denied?

  For Pizak, reviewing ancient philosophy guided his metra. In this deeply relaxed state, he could sharpen his mind like a blade on a whetstone through analysis of the ancient theorems.

  Who are you? Pizak asked. The sense drifting around him had no familiar aspect.

  Noshi, the presence replied. It’s communication took the unusual form of sound. Are you in my dream?

  Pizak pondered the meaning of the word. A dream, a metra-like process, but unguided. A human brain activity.

  You are human? Pizak’s consciousness rippled. A human connecting in metra?

  Or am I in your dream? Noshi continued.

  I do not dream.

  Then what is this?

  Pizak gave the question some thought. You are Noshi, human female?

  Yes?

  Have you exchanged consciousness with others?

  I… don’t think so?

  Her tone told Pizak that she had not. This was a Ka’tharis of the first order. One arising without forecast or prediction.

  Remain where you are. Communicate with no one, Pizak instructed.

  Am I to be punished? Noshi asked.

  I will do what I can to ensure that you are not.

  With a shift of his will and a change in his bio-chemistry, Pizak ejected himself from the meditative state.

  At his work terminal, he issued instructions to the human agents inside the dome.

  Chapter 3

  Calzon dressed without paying attention. His clothes were little better than the rags worn by most of the inhabitants of The Mess. He liked his boots though—pliable leather, worn soft, with wrap-around straps that kept them firm on his feet and calves.

  Shala lay in a pile of his blankets, still, warm, and soft. He didn’t want to leave her, but the message had been clear. Bring Noshi to the gate.

  This had something to do with that little shit, Erik. Jimin ha
d reported that the kid had slipped into the airlock with the other volunteers. The Diorites would either toss him out into the atmosphere or send him back. If he came back in here, Calzon would make him wish he had choked in the yellow sulfur mists outside the dome.

  Calzon’s men fell into step behind him as he stepped down into the mud and marched off towards the wall.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” Jimin asked. He would do anything to win back Calzon’s favor. Calzon intended to keep that loaded weapon holstered for as long as possible.

  “Find the blind kid, Noshi.”

  “We crossed her off before,” Jimin said.

  “Yeah, we’re gonna cross her off again.”

  “Bad luck to kill a witch,” someone else muttered. Calzon turned in mid-stride. He pushed Jimin aside and slammed a fist into the second man’s face, sending him sprawling in the mud.

  “If there’s any of you shit smears that are afraid of a blind kid, then get the fuck out of my line of sight.” He glared at each of them until they dropped their gaze. Jimin’s eyes never left the ground.

  Calzon led his crew up the rickety scaffolding and walkways of the wall. The shelters up here were a maze of hovels and lean-tos. The entire structure creaked and whispered with each step. The boss kept his face expressionless and climbed. He hated heights, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. Weakness, Calzon’s mother had always said, would get you killed.

  “Which of these shit holes is hers?” Calzon asked. Jimin pointed at a flapping blanket door.

  “Noshi?” Calzon called from the other side of the plank bridge. “You need to come out here. I need to talk to you.”

  “Calzon.” Noshi’s reply was not a question. She knew who he was and the men behind him shuffled nervously.